Dracula eBook

Mrs. Harker smiled, positively smiled, as with a sigh
of relief she leaned back and said, “And now
one word of warning, a warning which you must never
forget. This time, if it ever come, may come
quickly and unexpectedly, and in such case you must
lose no time in using your opportunity. At such
a time I myself might be . . . nay! If the time
ever come, shall be, leagued with your enemy against
you.

“One more request,” she became very solemn
as she said this, “it is not vital and necessary
like the other, but I want you to do one thing for
me, if you will.”

We all acquiesced, but no one spoke. There was
no need to speak.

“I want you to read the Burial Service.”
She was interrupted by a deep groan from her husband.
Taking his hand in hers, she held it over her heart,
and continued. “You must read it over me
some day. Whatever may be the issue of all this
fearful state of things, it will be a sweet thought
to all or some of us. You, my dearest, will I
hope read it, for then it will be in your voice in
my memory forever, come what may!”

“But oh, my dear one,” he pleaded, “death
is afar off from you.”

“Nay,” she said, holding up a warning
hand. “I am deeper in death at this moment
than if the weight of an earthly grave lay heavy upon
me!”

“Oh, my wife, must I read it?” he said,
before he began.

“It would comfort me, my husband!” was
all she said, and he began to read when she had got
the book ready.

How can I, how could anyone, tell of that strange
scene, its solemnity, its gloom, its sadness, its
horror, and withal, its sweetness. Even a sceptic,
who can see nothing but a travesty of bitter truth
in anything holy or emotional, would have been melted
to the heart had he seen that little group of loving
and devoted friends kneeling round that stricken and
sorrowing lady; or heard the tender passion of her
husband’s voice, as in tones so broken and emotional
that often he had to pause, he read the simple and
beautiful service from the Burial of the Dead.
I cannot go on . . . words . . . and v-voices . .
. f-fail m-me!

She was right in her instinct. Strange as it
was, bizarre as it may hereafter seem even to us who
felt its potent influence at the time, it comforted
us much. And the silence, which showed Mrs. Harker’s
coming relapse from her freedom of soul, did not seem
so full of despair to any of us as we had dreaded.